


Who You Are

by kelex



Category: Deadwood
Genre: Angst, Excessive Violence, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-03
Updated: 2005-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:32:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22192315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelex/pseuds/kelex
Summary: Seth Bullock finds out what kind of man he really is.
Relationships: Seth Bullock/James Butler "Wild Bill" Hickok
Kudos: 2





	Who You Are

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for "Here Was A Man" and "The Trial of Jack McCall", both in Season 1.

_Were you in love with him?_  
  
Seth could almost feel Jack's trachea collapsing under his thumbs.  
  
_Did he have his dick up your ass?_  
  
He'd never felt this kind of fury before, and for the first time, he understood why a man might take another man's life in vengeance and why he'd be excused for it.  
  
He dreamed about it at night, killing Jack McCall. He dreamed of choking those hateful words off before they could even make it out. Sometimes he broke McCall's neck, but most nights he simply choked the life out of him, watching his eyes go dead, hearing him fight for every breath, feeling the struggle go out of McCall's body. And he enjoyed it. Enjoyed watching the cocksucker suffer the way he was suffering.  
  
Suffocated everywhere he went, raw and open and angry, riding out on pure hate and determined to end another man's life in the vain hope of ending his own misery even as he laid his friend's--lover's--memory to rest. Not giving a damn about anything or anyone except this, this mission, the need to kill and the want for vengeance. Bill's guns had been buried with him or Seth would have taken the twin Colt revolvers instead of his own guns.  
  
He gave the Garret woman's proxy to Sol, wished him luck with the store, and started out after McCall. He'd find a way to make McCall pay.  
  
\-----  
  
Seth rode his horse until it was lathered, and he didn't let up. He walked it overnight to give it a rest, too intent on his mission to stop. He came on Jack McCall in the early morning hours, and he didn't even bother calling out to stop him. Instead, he just drew his revolver, lined up his sights, and shot the horse out from under him.  
  
The horse collapsed on top of Jack, and Seth was off his mount in an instant, running as soon as his feet hit the dirt. By the time McCall had gotten the horse off him and was back onto his feet, Seth plowed into him headfirst, slamming his shoulder into Jack's gut. It doubled him over, and Seth shoved him back down, straddling him and pounding his fist into Jack's face. He punched over and over again, until bone crunched and blood slicked his fist. Some was his own, most of it was McCall's, and Seth used the water in Jack's canteen to wash his hands clean.  
  
"Hickok... musta been... fuckin' you good and proper... his little girlfriend," Jack choked out around his swollen jaw.  
  
Seth punched him again. "Shut the fuck up," he growled, his hands going to wrap around Jack's throat. "Ain't nobody to stop me this time," he said, tightening the crushing grip. "I could strangle the life outta your sorry carcass and nobody'd shed a single fuckin' tear. Might even give me a pat on the back." But then Seth let go, listening to Jack choking and wheezing. "But that'd be too easy.  
  
Getting to his feet, Seth grabbed McCall by the greasy hair and dragged him along behind while Seth walked the few steps to the dead horse. There was a bedroll and the usual mining equipment strapped to the horse, but what Seth was interested in was the long coil of tent rope and the four wooden tent pegs.  
  
When McCall started to seriously struggle, trying to yank Seth's arm out and find some kind of leverage, Seth calmly turned around, gun in hand, and used the butt to knock McCall unconscious. The first thing he did was untie the bedroll from McCall's horse, and he used the short rope to make a leash, tying one end around McCall's neck and the other end to the dead horse carcass. He tangled Jack's hands in the reins and bridle, so that if he tried to move, he'd be hauling dead horse with him, one way or the other.  
  
Once Jack was secure, Seth finished his methodical search of the horse's saddlebags and had come up with the tent pegs he'd gone in after as well as a ball of fishing twine and a passably sharp hunting knife, still in it's sheath. He stuck the knife in his boot and tossed the rope over his shoulder as he looked around.  
  
The area around them was fairly flat and sparsely vegetated. There was a thin tree line a few yards away, and a few more yards past it, Seth could see a creek of fresh water bubbling through, and enough of the trees had already been cleared away that there was a nice little spot close to the river, perfect for camping.  
  
He got the mallet out of his own bag, and pounded the four stakes into the hard-packed Dakota earth. Then using the rope around his neck, Seth dragged Jack's still-unconscious body to the stakes, and proceeded to spread-eagle him between them, using both coils of rope to tie each extremity to a peg. Once that was done, Seth hooked up the dead horse to his own and dragged the carcass upwind and out of sight so that it was out of their way.  
  
By the time Seth had finished, Jack was awake and struggling against the double knots holding him to the tent pegs. "You can't do this!" Jack yelled, voice muffled and words misshapen by the beatings Seth had given him, both in Deadwood and now. Seth ignored him, instead walking the few steps to the creek and washing his hands and face, then drinking several cool sips. When he came back, he unloaded his own bags, rolled out his bedroll on top of Jack's, and finally, sat down at Jack's head.  
  
"Actually, yes, I can." He pulled the knife out of his boot and went through his pack until he found the whetstone that stayed tucked away at the bottom. He spat on the stone, and then proceeded to sharpen the knife. "I'm going to roast you all day," Seth continued, after a long, contemplative moment. "And if you're still alive by the time the sun goes down, I'm going to stick this knife in your belly, scalp you, and leave you to the Indians or the buzzards, whichever ones get you first." Seth smiled, and it wasn't pretty. "And I'm not going to leave you your guns," he said, nudging them where they hung off Jack's hip. "I'm going to cut them off you before I stick you and leave you out here."  
  
By this time, Jack was struggling hard against the ropes, begging for Seth to let him to, to just shoot him in the head, not to let him die in the middle of nowhere with a belly wound after long days of suffering. "Have... have mercy," Jack begged.  
  
"NO!" Seth's fist slammed down, jamming the knife deep into the dirt as his temper snapped. "You didn't have a lick of mercy for Bill Hickok! You shot him down lie he was a fuckin' dog in the *street* and you didn't give a damn about anyone but yourself." He took a deep breath, nails cutting into his palms because his fists were clenched so tightly. "So no, Mr. McCall, I don't think I've got a bit of mercy left for you." He looked up at the sky. "Sun-up's gonna be soon," he said, turning to lay down on the double roll he'd laid out for himself.  
  
\- = - = -  
  
"What in hell's name you doin' out here, Montana?"  
  
Seth's eyes slammed open as he shot upright. Jack was still staked out in the little clearing, but despite the fact that his mouth was moving, no sound was coming out. He turned, half-terrified, to look at the person sitting next to him.  
  
"Bill?"  
  
"Last time I checked." Bill Hickok stretched his long legs out with a grunt. "What you doin' out here with that cuntface?" Bill clarified, getting comfortable beside Seth. "I know you ain't doin' nothin' stupid, like gettin' revenge."  
  
"Bill." Seth's hand stopped just short of touching his friend's arm. "What... how? Are you...?"  
  
"Well, pick one, Montana, but answer mine first," Hickok demanded. "What are you doin'?"  
  
"I... McCall. He did something at the trial. Said you killed his brother in Abilene--they let him go." Seth's fists clenched again in anger. "I couldn't."  
  
"S'possible," Bill grunted. "Killed a lotta people in m'life, an' I did spend time in Abilene."  
  
"Possible my ass!" Seth shouted. "He's a son of a bitch that didn't like you beatin' him at cards and he shot you for it! Over a goddamned... worthless... poker game." Seth tried to hide the crack his voice. "It was just a fucking game."  
  
Bill just nodded. "You know well's I do that's how it works," he said. "Don't give you the right to be a one-man lynch mob."  
  
Seth glared at Bill. "How can you say that?" He cleared his throat gently as he pointed to McCall. "That bastard thought it was funny to tell me he liked killin' you," he gritted out. "I had my hands around his neck and he was asking me if I had your dick up my ass and was that why I was so upset."  
  
Bill shrugged. "Even an ijit like McCall can get somethin' right once in a while." He stretched out beside Seth and looked up at the sky. "You been a lawman just like me, Montana. An' you know this ain't the way to do things."  
  
"They let him go!" Seth shouted again. "After what he did to you, how the fuck can you be so calm! He didn't even give you a chance to draw! He just shot you like a fucking dog." His voice broke again, and he was completely horrified to hear how gruff he'd gotten. "He deserves this."  
  
"Maybe," Bill agreed. "But you really got it in ya to give it to 'im?" He just looked at Seth. "Got it in ya t'kill a man in cold blood just because you don't like what the jury said?"  
  
"I can't just let it go," Seth said, letting his head drop into his hands. "I can't let him get away with what he did to you."  
  
Bill sat up at that, and put his arm around Seth's shoulders. "You ain't got it in ya, Montana. You wanna kill him, I know. So do I." Then he leaned closer. "But you listen to me, and you listen good. This ain't the road for you, Seth. I always told ever'body that I was goin' to Hell in m'own way, and that's just what happened. But my road ain't yours. And if I see you walkin' it again, there's gonna be hell to pay. You hear me?"  
  
"I hear ya." Seth's shoulders were shaking, because Bill's arm felt warm and solid around his shoulder, his breath was hot and his body was radiating heat and Seth was fighting to keep hold of his sanity. "You know I loved you."  
  
"Course I knew," Bill confirmed. "Just like you know feelin's always been mutual." Bill pulled himself to his feet with a grunt.  
  
"Where are you going?" Seth asked, reaching out to stop Bill from leaving.  
  
"Man's gotta take a piss in private, Montana," Bill said as he walked off.  
  
\- = - = -  
  
When Seth woke up, his bedroll was wet where he'd laid his head. He looked at the knife, still driven in the ground from earlier, and he ran his hand over the handle before yanking it out of the ground. Then he looked at Jack.  
  
Jack was babbling a mile a minute, and Seth could barely understand every other word of gibberish. Seth balanced the knife in his hand, and brought it down in a huge, sweeping arc. Jack screamed in anticipation, but shut up as soon as Seth's fist impacted with his jaw. The knife flashed three more times in the early morning light, each sweep severing one of the ropes that held Jack pinned to the ground.  
  
As soon as Jack was free, Seth threw the knife down between his feet. "Bill's right; you're not even worth killin'. Get out of here. And if you ever show your face in Deadwood again, it'll be your last day on this earth. I promise you that."  
  
Jack tore off through the low scrub, crashing towards the river. Seth climbed onto his horse's back, leaving everything behind in distaste. He looked over his shoulder at the bedroll one last time, and right beside to, to the place where Bill had sat and counseled him. "Goodbye, Bill," Seth whispered, and spurred his horse back towards Deadwood.  
  
The End


End file.
